Nicola Barker - Small Holdings

Suddenly Nancy was next to me. ‘Phil.’

‘What have you done?’

I couldn’t see Nancy, I was looking at Wu, I was speaking to Wu. I glared at him. He didn’t seem in the least bit concerned. Very slowly, very slowly, he brought his arms and his legs down from the sky and into a kind of repose.

‘Huh?’

‘Do you know what you’ve done? Do you know?’

Wu seemed nonplussed. ‘You want me to answer your questions? Huh? Yes. No. Yes. No. Huh?’

I was holding the hoe, horizontally. I gripped it. I didn’t even stop to wonder what Nancy was doing. Why she was here.

Wu took several, small steps towards me and then stopped. He then took another small step forward. I braced myself.

‘Give me that,’ he said, pointing at the hoe.

‘Give it to me, Phil,’ Nancy said, because she was there, right next to me, and she took hold of the hoe and pulled it from me. But Wu was still moving, like I still had the hoe and he had every intention of taking it away from me. Slowly, he pushed the flat of his palm forwards, towards me, as though nudging a book or a drink or a flower in my direction. Closer and closer. I watched it, dazed, dazzled, and then it touched me. This slow hand hit me like a hammer in my chest. Until. . yes! I was flying through the air, like a pancake or an omelette, twirling — a stingray — whirling and twisting. Up and up.

What a revelation! It wasn’t at all dramatic. Not in the least how it should have been. His hand had been soft and then stronger than anything. And now I was flying, and I had time to think about all kinds of stuff, to notice that the holly still needed pruning, to remember how muddy Nancy’s hands had been, to see that in the centre of the rockery there was clover. And it was flowering purply. It was far and then it was close and my nose was in it.

A while after I landed I felt a jolt. My arm was twisted, slung under me. I was winded. I felt, just a little, like sleeping.

OH, THIS WAS NICE. Kind of wet and slippery and I was moving without any effort. But, thinking about it, something was hurting, was hurting. A bump and a rucking and a grazing. A long distance away I heard a voice, a tight little voice, unfamiliar, which was saying, ‘Can’t force flow. Flow flows.’ Flow flows.

Actually, the more I thought about it — and, be assured, there was no rush, no reason to rush — the more I gave it thought, the less happy I felt. My head was banging on the ground. My arm was aching, turned under me. I was being dragged. I felt mud and grass and then I felt gravel. My beard was so full of it. Bits of stone finding a home. Until, finally, I was still.

Something happened then, but I was no part of it. The gravel shifted, right up close to me, and then my face was wrapped in a warm, soft towel and a vapour darkened everything.

‘Hello Phil. Hello Phil. Hello.’

‘Wah?’

Shit. That was me.

I opened my eyes. Saleem had her face up close to mine and she was covered in blood — her cheek and her hand.

‘Don’t be shocked. I’m not hurt. This is your blood.’

‘Oh.’

She wiped at her face with a piece of tissue while she said, ‘Nancy’s here. She dragged you in.’

Nancy materialized in front of me. ‘I dragged you in. I’m really sorry. I’d never have taken the hoe away if I thought he was going to attack you. He’s so powerful for a little fella. Like David Carradine in Kung Fu.’

‘Where’s Doug?’

Saleem had a bowl full of warm water and a roll of kitchen towel.

‘He’s upstairs. Still in bed.’

She leaned over me again and applied something damp to my cheek. ‘Want to know what kind of injuries you sustained?’

‘Uh, I feel OK.’

‘Well, apart from the odd cut and graze, I think you broke your nose and sprained your arm. Maybe you sprained your ankle too. It’s swelling out a bit.’

My ribs hurt when I inhaled. I tried to sit up, still woozy. ‘What time is it?’

Nancy checked her watch, and I noticed again how dirty her hands were. Muddy hands.

‘About half-seven.’

My arm did feel bad. We were in the kitchen. I was on the floor.

‘I think might like to sit on a chair.’

Nancy helped me up.

‘Should we call the police?’ she asked, settling me down again with a small huff of exertion.

‘We can’t call the police,’ Saleem said quickly. ‘We’d be fucking ourselves over.’

I was mystified by this response. ‘Doug will probably want us to call them,’ I said. ‘That Chinese devil destroyed Doug’s greenhouse before he assaulted me.’

Saleem expressed no surprise at this. Nancy didn’t either. ‘In that case,’ Saleem said, ‘we should really let Doug decide whether he wants to get the police involved or not. They’re his vegetables, after all. And you. .’ She stared at me for a moment with an almost fond indifference. ‘You’ll mend.’

After a short pause she turned to Nancy and said pointedly, ‘Aren’t you in a hurry to unload that privet or something?’

Nancy shuffled her feet. ‘I suppose so. I was just worried about Phil

‘Actually,’ Saleem said, ‘I think we should tell Phil about where you’re supposed to be going today.’ Saleem turned towards me again. ‘Guess where Nancy’s going?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Tell him, Nancy.’

Nancy walked over to the sink and washed her hands. She spoke with her back to me, over her shoulder. ‘Doug’s got me going to Southend again for some more privet.’

‘Privet? How much more?’

‘Loads. And on Friday, too.’

‘Did he give you any order forms?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Can I have a quick look at them?’

‘I’ll get them later. They’re in the truck.’

Saleem butted in, ‘D’you think you might be concussed?’ she asked, purely, it seemed, out of interest, as though she and Nancy had had a small wager on this possibility. I was about to answer and then I heard a movement upstairs, a creaking.

‘Doug’s up,’ I said, panicking, ‘What shall we do? Maybe I could get to the greenhouse and tidy things up a bit if you two could try and keep him here for a while.’

I tried to stand up. I nearly managed it, but something buckled. ‘I’ve got to start unloading,’ Nancy said, sounding blank somehow, avoiding my eyes. She went out. I gazed after her, confounded.

‘You can’t hide things from Doug, Phil,’ Saleem said calmly. ‘He smells trouble at fifty paces.’

Doug was on the landing now. I could hear him. Then he was on the stairs, descending.

‘Also,’ Saleem added, ‘I didn’t want to say anything before, but in case you were determined to call the police, I’m not entirely sure that it was Wu who destroyed the greenhouse.’

‘What?’

Doug was behind the door, right behind it. He was at the door. He was pressing some of his weight on to the door handle. I saw the handle move, down, up again, saw the door push inwards, towards me, and behind it. . Doug. Doug. Square-chinned, resolute, hinged. Hanging on, like the door, but only just. I watched as Doug took his hand from the handle and I watched as the door closed behind him, smoothly, quietly, automatically.

Doug stood there and appraised me. He drank me in, slowly, and then he said, ‘Phil, there’s something hanging out of your nose. Looks like a big, raw, red caterpillar.’

He went and switched on the kettle. Saleem said, ‘There’s tea already in the pot.’

Doug grunted appreciatively, switched the kettle off again and took himself a mug off the mug-tree. ‘I’m only telling you, ‘ Doug added, lifting an eyebrow in my direction, ‘because I’d find it difficult to eat breakfast with that thing just hanging there out of your nostril.’